A Red Dragon in Chains
by Tippy.LaRoux
Summary: You can’t keep a good dragon chained up. Though Louis XVI might have something to say about it. Fluffy birthday present gone bad xoxo DM/CW


The ornate curves in Draco's heirloom headboard dug painfully into Charlie Weasley's back. Looking down at the blond wizard curled around him like a snake, Charlie was once again reminded how lucky he was to have such an amazing boyfriend. Both men were slowly catching their breath after Draco surprised Charlie with a rather amorous gift for his birthday. In his haste to move the hair off Draco's cheek, Charlie forgot about one little thing: his hands were not his own—he had given control of them to Draco.

"So, I take it you liked your birthday present?" Charlie could hear the satisfied smirk in Draco's voice.

"Yes, I did, thank you. Now be a dove and unlock these blasted things. That hair of yours is altogether too tidy right now." At the sound of a chuckle deep in the back of Charlie's throat, Draco's eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up and off of the dragon tamer.

"You wound me. Besides, my hair is perfectly fine just the way it is!" Draco made to hit the release on the shiny red handcuffs, instead he found nothing but smooth steel. He grabbed his wand from the bedside table and muttered spell after spell under his breath.

Being held quite literally captive by his birthday present, all Charlie could do was watch as Draco's agitation ratcheted up. After a few minutes, the frustration had slowly spread across Draco's pale skin in the form of rosey pink splotches, Charlie couldn't hold his tongue any longer.

"Are you having some trouble, babe? Want me to try?" his voice automatically came out soft and comforting, as though calming a dragon on the verge of spitting fire—which he nearly was.

"So far I have concluded that there is no release, and none of the spells I can remember work." Draco tossed his wand back onto the bedside table and rolled off the bed. He paced up and down the length of the bed and tried to think of something.

"Then break the headboard." Draco stopped at the foot of the bed. His silver eyes glared back at Charlie as though he was suggesting Draco should destroy a family heirloom—which he actually was.

"This was gifted to my great-great-great-grandfather by Louis XVI. There is no way I am breaking the headboard no matter how badly you want out of these. Besides, why would you jump to 'break the headboard,' when it's the handcuffs that are the problem?" Draco stopped mid rant after realizing he had unwittingly revealed the crux of the problem. Once Charlie found out where the shiny pieces of metal came from, the gouges left on the headboard from him pulling at them were going to be the least of Draco's problems.

"Good point." Charlie latched on to the bit of information his boyfriend revealed. "Why don't you just break the handcuffs, then?" Charlie offered, hoping to just get the damn things off and get some feeling back into his hands. He was all for trying new things, but right then he just needed to touch Draco.

"I can't." His shoulders slumped in defeat. Draco slowly crawled back up the bed to lean against the headboard with Charlie.

"Why not, Draco? Where did you get these?" Charlie was growing frustrated at his boyfriend for not having the courage to look him in the eye. The last part came out closer to a growl than anything else.

Draco pulled one of the pillows from behind him into his lap and began to methodically rub the edge between his thumb and index finger. The friction had always calmed the younger man's nerves.

Having watched Draco do this over the years, Charlie knew that Draco was working up the courage to talk to him. Charlie had an idea of where the handcuffs came from. The underlying magic he felt thrumming through them was very familiar. It was as though he'd known the maker his entire life. He also felt fairly certain that Draco knew he wouldn't be happy about it.

Finally breaking the silence, Draco looked to Charlie and began his explanation. "I spoke with Blaise about what to get you, you know, for today."

"Okay, and?" Charlie tried to remain calm while Draco was skirting around the obvious answer. It was nearly impossible, but Charlie was trained to be patient—to convey an approachable demeanor, but to also be ready for fire.

"Well, his ideas were complete rubbish. You don't wear any jewelry around the dragons, because danger of melting, obviously." Draco looked back down at his fingers as they unconsciously worried the edge of the pillowcase. Forging forward, he continued on, "Ancient texts are just… Besides not being sexy, nearly anything you would want to read can be found in the Malfoy library."

"Who, Draco? Who gave these to you?" Patience worn thin, Charlie pushed Draco to just tell him the truth.

"George." Charlie just glared at Draco. On one hand, he was happy that Draco felt comfortable enough to reach out to his family of 'Blood Traitors.' On the other hand, why in the world would Draco Freaking Malfoy go to George Weasley for advice?

"How was I supposed to know that 'Unbreakable' referred to being unable to actually break them?" channeling pre-teen Ginny, Charlie gave Draco his best eye roll.

"How about the fact that they were from my jackass brother, and he knew you would use them on me!"

"Well, I could send him a owl."

"Which could take him hours to respond to."

"I could always find a way to take your mind off of things." Draco leant in to kiss Charlie, and all thought of the troublesome restraints were pushed from his mind—for a second.

"Grrrrrugh!" Charlie struggled a bit to get his hands free. When he pulled his hand down he could feel the links catch and break off a filigree edge. "It isn't just me that you are punishing by keeping my hands locked way up here." He looked above his head, pulling a bit on the chains to bring attention to them. "Just think of all the things these hands could be doing right now if they weren't held hostage?"

"Alright. Do it. It was Louis XVI, was that even the good Louis?"

"How should I know? The King of Nowhere gifted my family nothing. I live on a dragon reserve and the non-incendiary spells used to keep my furnishings safe from the constant threat of combustion leave much to be desired in the area of comfort. No thought is given to the pedigree of the shitty bed one sleeps on."

"Prat."

"Snob."

Charlie didn't have to wait much longer to feel the softness of Draco's hair on his fingers. Whether Louis XVI was the good one or not, the wooden bedframe gave way to the dragon tamer's need with little protest. Wood splintered from Charlie's wandless Reducto, and within seconds, he had his arms over Draco's head. One hand had grabbed a fist of blond hair pulling his head down to meet Charlie's mouth, while the other splayed across Draco's neck and any other smooth patch of skin he could reach.

.o0o.

The next morning, while getting out of bed, Charlie was roused from his groggy, love drunk haze when a sliver of mahogany pierced his heel. Hopping up and down on the other foot, he did his best to keep his howls of pain inside his head. One knows better than to wake a sleeping dragon.

During the night Charlie realized a few things. Firstly, he owed Draco an apology for his reaction to hearing George had a hand in his birthday present. It really was a great present. Secondly, if Draco was able to find a way to talk to his git brother, he was going to work up the courage to talk to Narcissa. He owed Draco a new headboard. Thirdly, if he wanted something to talk to Narcissa about while shopping, he'd have to figure out who in the hell the best Louis was.

.o0o.

THC

House: Hufflepuff

Year: 3

Category: Standard

Prompt: [Object] Family Heirloom

Word Count: 1340

Hogwarts: Ravenclaw

Mythology- Events of Ragnarok

Task One: Write about someone who is victorious after working at a goal for a long time.


End file.
